


Caffrey Original

by storiesfortravellers



Category: White Collar
Genre: Art, M/M, Modernism, Smut, ladder sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal's thoughts on art, beauty, risk, and Peter.  Followed by physically improbably ladder sex. (It all makes sense in the end why all these things are together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caffrey Original

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on livejournal at collarkink.

In the Twentieth Century, there was an explosion, a proliferation, of schools of art, of ways of looking. Neals likes almost all of these movements, finding something to savor in each. But as different as these movements are, they tend to have something in common.

Almost every artist, at some point fairly early in her or his career, does a piece that signifies a transition. Every artist has a pieve where they are on the precipice of learning not to care whether their art is beautiful.

Some of them struggle for years before pushing themselves to produce something powerful but devoid of beauty. Some of them push the limits of edgy-raw-ugly until they realize that there are tougher questions an artist can ask oneself than the best way to unpretty.

But it's those pieces where the artist is just learning to let beauty fall away. Neal loves those, and he loves forging them especially. It makes him feel like he is encouraging these young artists, though it makes no sense, though it is the reverse of the normal direction of time and history. But to Neal, as he paints their struggle, he feels a swell of pride in the original artist - and in himself - the pride of corrupting something, of making it burst into something far more interesting than beauty.

Neal thinks about this - about the end of beauty in the modern age - as he looks around his living quarters - at its lush, elegant decor - and realizes that he can't look at a single piece of furniture without remembering what it was like the last time Peter fucked on it, over it, in it.

Much more interesting.

\--------  
Neal loved the weekends. Domestic bliss, sweet lovemaking, Peter and Elizabeth and Neal in a big bed, with lots of tenderness and laughter and no shortage of terrific sex, no kink that Neal or they were too scared to ask for. It was the weekends, when he stayed at the Burke house, that made Neal feel like he was home.

During the week, Neal stayed at June's place still. He saw her and Moz and he enjoyed the city, and he had the space and freedom (without Peter at his shoulder) to bend rules and paradigms just enough to catch their target, thereby keeping Neal in good status with his employer/government. But he wasn't made of stone, and it was fine with all three of them if Peter would come by once in a while. Not to stay - Neal still needed space of his own - but to let them both connect, blow off steam. To have some time alone - just the two of them - without it being about work.

In other words, for quickies.

And they were nothing like the wonderful weekends of ElPeterNeal. 

Of course if Neal could only have one, he would choose the weekend sex, the loving home with the three of them. 

But he didn't have to choose. He got both. Burkes at home sex with the smiles and the long foreplay and the impressive collection of items purchased at the sex shop, fun for before, during, and after. And Peter bending him over the couch for 10 minutes, slapping him on the ass, and leaving while Neal's pants were still around his ankles.

Neal was especially proud of that one. It had taken a long time to get Peter to that point. 

It had also taken Neal a lot of work to make Peter the kind of man who could shove Neal against a wall and stick his hand down Neal's pants without even bothering to ask if Neal was in the mood. Because those little surprises, those little flashes of feral in Peter, are exactly what put Neal in the mood. 

So. A lot of work. 

But worth it.

The first time, though, that Neal realized just how far Peter had come was when he used the ladder. Peter had called a few minutes before showing up; he always did, so Neal could use his own fingers to prepare himself, to have everything ready, so Peter could just show and push into him without a single word or nicety. This had been Neal's idea first, but it was startling how fully Peter had taken to their custom.

When Peter arrived this time, he asked Neal to climb up on the ladder and get him a book from the upper shelves. Neal knew something was up but he played along. As soon as Neal was on the second step, he felt Peter's large hand plant itself on Neal's ass cheek. 

"See, this is the view I wanted. This view of you climbing up is my third favorite thing about this ladder," Peter said, assertiveness ending a chill into Neal.

"Third?"

A cryptic smile from Peter: "Come back down the ladder, Neal." 

Swallowing in anticipation, Neal climbed down. His hands were still on the sides of the ladder as Peter, standing right behind him, reached around and undid Neal's belt, pulling his pants and boxers down and grabbing the lube out of Neal's right pocket for a quick stroke. He gripped his thumbs tight into Neal's hips then and entered, pushing past the muscle that still offered resistance. 

His rhythm was fast, staccato jerks of Peter's hip, thrusting and pounding as Neal stood bent over in front of Peter, still clinging desperately to the ladder to try and stay standing. Hard and relentless and slamming into Neal, making his whole body jerk back and forth, making him feel tossed around, like his whole self was being throttled by the force of Peter's cock inside of him. It made Neal think all his very favorite words: owned and brute and merciless and desperate and ravished and most of all TAKEN.

And it was bliss. Until Peter pulled out before either of them finished.

Neal whimpered something less coherent than he intended. Peter turned him around so they were facing each other. He raised an eyebrow and did his best impression of man not out breath and not driven mad with lust, and said, "Neal, I want you naked for the rest of this."


End file.
